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+---- Thread: [AW] open my chest, color my spine (/showthread.php?tid=5974)
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open my chest, color my spine - Willoughby - 12-26-2020
the road less traveled
She had come to call the Plains her on again, off again home. It was much like a house at this point, however. A place she could come back to, but not put down roots. For Willoughby, she did not think such a thing existed for her. Not yet anyway. Too new to this realm to make much of a splash, she spent her days wandering to those that would accept her and then come back here for rest. No court held her interest for long, for she had no one to call friend yet.
Perhaps it had been foolish of her to reject her master's plea. He had told her to come with him to the next grand adventure, to sing with him forever... Yet she was not ready to be tied down. No man or woman had tickled her fancy enough to call it that forever. The mare sighed, breathing in the scents of the realm she had come to admire. One day she would venture further. This was not the day. Dusk was fading into night, and she was alone yet again.
As a social creature, Willoughby sought company in any form. Leaving behind her usual place of rest, she crept under the moonlight. A pleasant smile graced her lips as she glanced this way and that, hoping to get a glimpse of some beast that had decided to take a moonlit walk.
@tag / speaks / open for anyone
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Atlas - 12-27-2020
atlas,
i hope you know where you're going, but you're just as lost as me
you walk with such conviction and I'm eyes-closed following
The light of the moon was pale, and beaming, a silver array cast across the still heat of the new summer night. A day of sweat coated his golden flesh, and darkened the edges of the pallid, threadbare mauve fabric wrapped uselessly around his throat. Around him, the shoulder-high, untrodden grass scratched, harmless, at his skin; it was cool to the touch in the dark of the night. Mice and voles scurried away from the knife-tip of his hooves; somewhere amongst the underbrush a fox chirped, and a little owl, more prey than predator itself, called from the treeline of a distant copse.
Atlas was the special kind of exhausted gifted only to those exposed to oversocialization. The Dawn Coronation party had left him ragged and seeking peace, and so he escaped, as was his tendency, to be under the bright night of stars. It was a distant memory and yet his mind was still swallowed by the scent of fresh roses and the golden eyes of that morbid beast, his voice like poisoned, hot honey still ringing in his ears. New, pink scars scaled his right shoulder, remnants of his blundering.
Here, though, beneath the cold tin sky, the wild blue indigo was thornless and smelled thick and sweet, and the plain’s sunflowers made for beautiful flower chains and pulled bees to their bright yellow blooms when the sun was up. Here he could breathe without feeling smothered by diplomatic weight or the consequence of untimely friends.
He thought her some sort of prairie bird, at first, a large grouse or mottled, off-hue pheasant. It was only when she fully emerged from the shadows did he recognize her as equine. In the moonlight she glowed pale and sparkled silver; to his credit, he only startled a little bit.
Her countenance screamed young. It made him tired.
“Beg pardon, friend,” he said, his voice quiet so as not to frighten her, “but it is a bit late for wandering, don’t you think?”
Atlas was the special kind of exhausted gifted only to those exposed to oversocialization. The Dawn Coronation party had left him ragged and seeking peace, and so he escaped, as was his tendency, to be under the bright night of stars. It was a distant memory and yet his mind was still swallowed by the scent of fresh roses and the golden eyes of that morbid beast, his voice like poisoned, hot honey still ringing in his ears. New, pink scars scaled his right shoulder, remnants of his blundering.
Here, though, beneath the cold tin sky, the wild blue indigo was thornless and smelled thick and sweet, and the plain’s sunflowers made for beautiful flower chains and pulled bees to their bright yellow blooms when the sun was up. Here he could breathe without feeling smothered by diplomatic weight or the consequence of untimely friends.
He thought her some sort of prairie bird, at first, a large grouse or mottled, off-hue pheasant. It was only when she fully emerged from the shadows did he recognize her as equine. In the moonlight she glowed pale and sparkled silver; to his credit, he only startled a little bit.
Her countenance screamed young. It made him tired.
“Beg pardon, friend,” he said, his voice quiet so as not to frighten her, “but it is a bit late for wandering, don’t you think?”
@Willoughby | "Speech."
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Willoughby - 12-27-2020
the road less traveled
His golden frame was a stark difference to the moon's silver hues. When he approached, appearing before her, Willoughby did not so much as blink. The maiden's lips curled into a welcoming smile, dipping her head with a light giggle escaping her jaws. "Perhaps" she says to the stranger, ceasing her steps and coming to a halt "yet you see and meet all sorts of curious people at night..."
Willoughby trails off, tilting her head slightly. She was too polite to redirect it at him, that perhaps he should not be wandering outside at night either. She finds she does not care to direct others; let them live their life the way they want. What business was it of hers what this man did? He did not know her, and she did not know him. Having no formal place of residence, the maiden knew not else to do.
@Atlas / speaks / ty for joining!
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Atlas - 01-01-2021
atlas,
i hope you know where you're going, but you're just as lost as me
you walk with such conviction and I'm eyes-closed following
He realized then she’d caught him in a bit of a conundrum. Chastising her for late night wanderings while also being out wandering late at night would do no more than make him a great, golden, hypocrite. She seemed nice enough, at least for the sort that one would usually find creeping around during the witching hour. Atlas dipped his head in a greeting bow, only slightly embarrassed; her giggle rendered him defenseless and tugged at his heartstrings. Like bowstrings, the counterweight heavy enough to remind him of his youth, dipped in gold and stolen away.
“This may be true,” he said to her, “but I’m sure you’ve heard the epithet about curiosity and the cat.” He comes to stand beside her, inviting her to wander with him into the night; they would be safer, at least, as a duo. He has come to accept his height deficit as a constant; he is older than her by some years but her wings are like clouds above him. It no longer bothers him. “May I ask, why are you walking about under the stars?” He hopes it is a happy story: a sense of wanderlust, a gentle curiosity.
In his experience, the things that keep us up at night tend to not be happy stories.
“This may be true,” he said to her, “but I’m sure you’ve heard the epithet about curiosity and the cat.” He comes to stand beside her, inviting her to wander with him into the night; they would be safer, at least, as a duo. He has come to accept his height deficit as a constant; he is older than her by some years but her wings are like clouds above him. It no longer bothers him. “May I ask, why are you walking about under the stars?” He hopes it is a happy story: a sense of wanderlust, a gentle curiosity.
In his experience, the things that keep us up at night tend to not be happy stories.
@Willoughby | "Speech."
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Willoughby - 01-01-2021
the road less traveled
Her head tilted a bit further, endearing her naivety to the situation. Curiosity and the cat? Oh! The curiosity would kill the cat! Ah... ah... was she in danger? Willoughby could always fly away, if so. This man didn't seem to have wings so he could not follow... Or was he speaking about the plains being a danger? Or the night itself?
She gives a start as he talks further. The maiden keeps her pleasant smile. "W-Well, you might find it silly" she utters with a chuckle "I really do not have a reason. At least not a logical one" she warns him calmly and innocently "true, the night is more unknown but there is also wonder in it. I do not see danger."
If she was careful, no one would give her trouble surely? No shadows lurked in her field of vision. "I reside in a little nest a distance away, having come to Novus recently and deciding to stay here" in case that was too whimsical for the man "I got bored, restless... I could not sleep. Perhaps I still have a case of wandering?" In any case, she accepted his invite.
Walking closer, she smiled at the stranger as he involved his company.
@Atlas / speaks / ty for joining!
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Atlas - 01-01-2021
atlas,
i hope you know where you're going, but you're just as lost as me
you walk with such conviction and I'm eyes-closed following
The plains, the night, the day, and all of life itself, little bird. All of it was large, frightening, and dangerous; but spell-binding and beautiful, too, like a carnivore with pearly white teeth. There could be snakes in these grasses, with hinged jaw and venomous fang, or perhaps a panther trolling about in the summer’s night, seeking an unsuspecting creature like her, slim of limb and quick to trust.
Atlas was no danger, to anyone save, perhaps, his own self. He offers a soft smile at the waver in her voice. “Not silly at all, for I often find myself wandering with no end goal in mind.” There is a fouling in his heart that his strange, unwarranted feelings of protection have seemed to cast a shadow on this young lady’s mind. “Forgive me, I did not mean to cause concern. I am merely prone to it.” He laughed a bit at himself, raw and awkward. “If it were up to me everyone would be safe and happy at home in bed. But how can I expect others to share a mindset I, myself, do not have?”
He listened to her tale of coming to Novus and nodded. He, too, was once a stranger in this land, but where he had come to take the title of Scholar of Dusk, he had never truly remained there. It had simply been where he’d landed, years ago, scared and hurt; but now his wounds were closed-up scars and he felt more comfortable. “Not having a home to call one’s own is as good a reason to wander as any. Where do you come from, if I may be so bold?” It was calmly worded as they continued their trek through the comfortably warm night.
Atlas was no danger, to anyone save, perhaps, his own self. He offers a soft smile at the waver in her voice. “Not silly at all, for I often find myself wandering with no end goal in mind.” There is a fouling in his heart that his strange, unwarranted feelings of protection have seemed to cast a shadow on this young lady’s mind. “Forgive me, I did not mean to cause concern. I am merely prone to it.” He laughed a bit at himself, raw and awkward. “If it were up to me everyone would be safe and happy at home in bed. But how can I expect others to share a mindset I, myself, do not have?”
He listened to her tale of coming to Novus and nodded. He, too, was once a stranger in this land, but where he had come to take the title of Scholar of Dusk, he had never truly remained there. It had simply been where he’d landed, years ago, scared and hurt; but now his wounds were closed-up scars and he felt more comfortable. “Not having a home to call one’s own is as good a reason to wander as any. Where do you come from, if I may be so bold?” It was calmly worded as they continued their trek through the comfortably warm night.
@Willoughby | "Speech."
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Willoughby - 01-01-2021
She smiles wistfully, turning her neck to look at the golden man gently. “Even if some would not appreciate such a mindset” she replies “I personally think it is a kind thought, ser.” She spoke from the heart, the opinion and of her mind. Many folks, she knew, wished harm upon others. This one only wanted to protect them.
She found it admirable, to be frank. Willoughby flickered through life, giving a piece of herself to every person she has met. But she did not give anything to herself. She did not allow herself to form connections because she was aware she could leave the people she even cared about. Her wandering was fickle at best. Her loyalty won easily, but commitment fleeting.
He asks where she is from, and the maiden does not need to pause or think. “There is not a name for the places I have mostly been” she tells her new companion as they walk “Novus is the only one I know by title. I'm still learning all the kingdoms' names too. Where I was born though... my parents had refused to tell me.”
There were many understandable reasons for such a thing. “I believe they didn't want me to linger on the past. They wanted me to have a good life of my own decisions.”
“she speaks”
if you don't want to see me dancing with somebody new
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Atlas - 01-03-2021
atlas,
i hope you know where you're going, but you're just as lost as me
you walk with such conviction and I'm eyes-closed following
He knows he can be overbearing and stick his nose in places it is not entirely wanted; it has been a tendency of his, this need to care, ever since Nashira opened his eyes and sliced his hair. Seeing the ill and undervalued dying in the pit of the city he himself looked down upon; crimes against humanity from which he had blindly prospered. No more, ever again. Still, he appreciated Willoughby’s acknowledgment of his good intentions, and it warmed him slightly to know a soul such as him was not entirely lost amongst a world seemingly crafted of apathy.
She speaks of places with no names and Atlas is moored somewhere between lost and confused. In his mind there is a vast desert filled with bones. It has a name-- the Sagudal-- but it has no name at all. Somewhere there are sixteen graves once laid in the sand, though surely it’s temperamental nature has shifted them all by now. “You have traveled much, then?” he asked, unable to quash his innate curiosity and desire to learn. Perhaps they had this in common; maybe they could fill the night with stories of her travels.
His were ghosts he’d rather leave buried.
He guesses her parents had kept secrets for what they thought was her own good. He chuckles lightly. “Perhaps you some stolen princess, whisked away in the night for your own safety. What a tale that would make.” His tone is warm and full of jest. “Still, I’ve been around the bend a time or two. If you’ve questions on Novus, do not hesitate to ask.”
Ahead, a field of moonflowers in bloom bob their white heads in a gentle breeze. It was a breathtaking sight.
She speaks of places with no names and Atlas is moored somewhere between lost and confused. In his mind there is a vast desert filled with bones. It has a name-- the Sagudal-- but it has no name at all. Somewhere there are sixteen graves once laid in the sand, though surely it’s temperamental nature has shifted them all by now. “You have traveled much, then?” he asked, unable to quash his innate curiosity and desire to learn. Perhaps they had this in common; maybe they could fill the night with stories of her travels.
His were ghosts he’d rather leave buried.
He guesses her parents had kept secrets for what they thought was her own good. He chuckles lightly. “Perhaps you some stolen princess, whisked away in the night for your own safety. What a tale that would make.” His tone is warm and full of jest. “Still, I’ve been around the bend a time or two. If you’ve questions on Novus, do not hesitate to ask.”
Ahead, a field of moonflowers in bloom bob their white heads in a gentle breeze. It was a breathtaking sight.
@Willoughby | "Speech."
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Willoughby - 01-03-2021
“Oh, my. Yes. I have traveled much and far” she speaks with some hidden wisdom that even she is unaware of. Of lands that have no formal names, of places she had neglected when she left them to settle for Novus. “I remember them only faintly, these places... I am afraid I was too young to really know much.” Retaining information as a child was not her strong suit.
The man spoke of her being a princess, causing a good natured chuckle to escape her jaws. “And a grand kingdom with a name, my legacy, fortune and a charming prince waiting for me?” Willoughby teased back “I would be a poor princess. I wouldn't place stock into a name, I would find no joy in legacy. Fortune would be given to the needy, and a prince would find me too flighty.”
The maiden would pause, mulling over his offer. “Questions, questions...” she utters, casting a glance at the man “how about something simple? Your name, sir?”
“she speaks”
if you don't want to see me dancing with somebody new
RE: open my chest, color my spine - Atlas - 01-05-2021
atlas,
i hope you know where you're going, but you're just as lost as me
you walk with such conviction and I'm eyes-closed following
She speaks of her travels and her voice shades a bit far-off. Atlas fights off a frown, fights down the inner worrier. What troubles have hounded this poor girl? Surely such displacement was unfair to one so young. But then, he’d spent his youth in gilded blindness. Was that any better?
He whisked his troubled thoughts away with a smile, happy his words could elicit some feeling of light and indulgence. He really was bad at socialization, sometimes. “If you hadn’t marvelous wings already, I’d say there would be a noble winged steed in there to carry you about your kingdom.” He listens to her speak and nods, able to appreciate her disdain for the ruling class. “They say flighty, I say… adventurous.” He thinks most princes would find him flighty, too.
The laughter bubbles from him unchecked and loud in the night. “You see how silly I am? Here I am offering my profound knowledge--,” his voice deepens with sarcasm, head shaking back and forth in his self-mockery-- “and I have not even properly introduced myself.” He steps away, swinging his body in a very dramatic move, causing the flowers to sashay, and gives her the honor of his best bow-- the kind given by servants to their betters, the kind Nashira had made him practice till his knees hurt. It has been years since he’d done the motion, but it comes flowing back to him, clear as water. “My name is Atlas, wanderer of these lands. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, princess.”
He whisked his troubled thoughts away with a smile, happy his words could elicit some feeling of light and indulgence. He really was bad at socialization, sometimes. “If you hadn’t marvelous wings already, I’d say there would be a noble winged steed in there to carry you about your kingdom.” He listens to her speak and nods, able to appreciate her disdain for the ruling class. “They say flighty, I say… adventurous.” He thinks most princes would find him flighty, too.
The laughter bubbles from him unchecked and loud in the night. “You see how silly I am? Here I am offering my profound knowledge--,” his voice deepens with sarcasm, head shaking back and forth in his self-mockery-- “and I have not even properly introduced myself.” He steps away, swinging his body in a very dramatic move, causing the flowers to sashay, and gives her the honor of his best bow-- the kind given by servants to their betters, the kind Nashira had made him practice till his knees hurt. It has been years since he’d done the motion, but it comes flowing back to him, clear as water. “My name is Atlas, wanderer of these lands. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, princess.”
@Willoughby | "Speech."